Half an inch, with webbed feet,
My lungs forming,
Yours, giving up
Buoyant in amniotic fluid,
Whilst you were drowning.
Silent.
Enveloped in darkness,
Both of us, with no voice.
You wrote her a letter
On paper, the colour of the moon,
Delicate white lace,
Her wedding dress,
Never worn.
She held it,
Hands like nervous butterflies
Fearful a breeze would steal it from her
Unknowing,
She had already been robbed.
Then she carried it with her,
She carried me,
Carried the burden.
She was slowly drowning too.
A bastard child,
A shipwreck on the ocean floor,
Casualties of the war,
The three of us.
2012 © LH
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